


no more i love yous

by montecarlos



Category: Motorcycling RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, I Don't Even Know, Kissing, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 18:37:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19729462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/montecarlos/pseuds/montecarlos
Summary: Jorge knew it was coming - how could he not, he took the man’s seat.





	no more i love yous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lewishamilton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lewishamilton/gifts).



> This is my first foray into this fandom writing - so be gentle with me, I've obviously exaggerated some things for the sake of the story but the excerpts are from Dani's real retirement speech. 
> 
> This is for the wonderful Jazz for putting up with so much bullshit from me recently. Your support means the world to me and I hope you enjoy this! :)

_**"This is a decision that I've been thinking for a long time,"** _

  
Jorge knew it was coming - how could he not, he took the man’s seat - but seeing Dani sitting at the press conference table alone, flashes going off every few seconds, really hits the message home. He looks smaller than usual, even when he’s surrounded by the other riders and he eludes his usual calm exterior for the press. But Jorge knows better - he can see the flash of worry in the dark eyes, the slight downturn of lips. He pushes a hand through his short hair, worrying on his lip as he watches his compatriot rattle off the usual PR nonsense.  
  
  
__**"It's a very, very hard decision because this is the sport I love, but despite having good opportunities to keep racing, I feel like I don't live racing with such an intensity as before and I now have different priorities in my life.”**  
__  
****__  
Jorge tastes blood as he bites down on his tongue. The words are typical Dani - spoken with a calming, non-negotiable tone. Another flash hits the side of Dani’s face and Jorge can see the muscle in his cheek tensing as he reads off the spiel.  
  
_I don’t live racing._ Jorge thinks of chapped lips dancing over one another, calloused fingertips from years of handling bikes gently tugging down the zip of his overalls, revealing sweat-covered, smooth skin.  
  
“You’re beautiful,” He remembers his whisper, the shiver that brushed over smaller shoulders at the puff of air that rolled over the side of his neck. Jorge replaces the words with his lips, marking every area of the skin that he can see, spurred on by the low moans.  
  
_I now have different priorities in my life._ Priorities that don’t include Jorge, and that still stings more than he will admit. They’ve known each other since they were practically kids, stupid idiots in 125cc who didn’t know any better, but they clung to one another. It was hard enough to deal with not being at home, surrounded by the familiar twang of the Spanish language - but Dani helped to soothe those fears. Jorge doesn’t remember when the line between friendship-slash-rivalry blurred into something else. He just remembers the bitter taste of the beer against his lips replaced by the sweetness of Dani’s lips pressed against his own.  
  
  
****__**"I would like to express how fortunate I feel to have had this experience, this opportunity in my life.”**  
****  
  
Jorge tries to shake his head to dispel the thoughts away. It was a long time ago, he reasons, he’s probably feeling nostalgic. Dani has always been in the paddock by his side and it’s the shock of losing him that is affecting him. He turns his attention back to the television, to Dani still sitting at the chair all alone and feels his stomach turn once more. _It’s your fault._ His brain screams out, as he growls under his breath. _You knew what you were doing when you signed that contract._  
  
“Shut up,” He snarls out loud as though to dispel the thoughts that rush through his head. “Shut up,”  
  
His fingernails curl into the palms of his hands, crescent moons cutting into pale skin as he remembers the night they spent together, Jorge doesn’t remember how old they were - old enough to have sex - he reasons, when he knocked on Dani’s door after a particularly tough race holding aloft half a bottle of the shittiest Sangria known to man. He remembers falling between pressed sheets, dark eyes searching his own.  
  
_“Are you sure?”_  
  
_“I’m sure,”_  
  
  
**_"I can say that I achieved way more than I expected and I'm very, very proud of all I've done in the sport.”_**  
  
  
It changed after that, they changed after that. It’s one thing to hold onto one another and weather the storm of the pressure of a world championship series. But the competition rips them apart. Dani moves up to MotoGP before Jorge, and has to endure all of the pressure and scrutiny with being at the top level. Jorge tries to cling onto what they were, tries to kiss away the bruises that appear all over Dani’s body as a result of the heavier bike, but Dani pushes him away.  
  
_“Not now, Jorge, I have to concentrate,”_  
  
Jorge wins the 250cc championship as Dani just misses out on the top prize, beaten into second place by Casey. Jorge doesn’t see Dani at all that summer, until testing starts up again and he’s in the Yamaha garage staring down world champion Valentino Rossi, whilst Dani watches him from the Honda garage, with an expression in his dark eyes that Jorge can’t place.  
  
  
__**"I fulfilled my dream of becoming a racer and this is something that I really didn't expect when I was a kid watching TV and watching all the riders in the world championship."**  
****__  
  
The championship fight between them in 2010 splintered the already fragile and precarious arrangement. Jorge lays alone in his motorhome with tears on his cheeks on the night he wins the world championship. He won the ultimate prize, the one he dreamed of holding when he was a kid, but he loses Dani in the process. Dani, who surveys him with nothing but hatred, dark eyes that used to gaze over his body now burn with hatred and lips that pressed kisses against Jorge’s neck now curl into a snarl. They recovered a few years later but never to what they once were - Jorge found himself focused on the battle between Marc and Vale and Dani’s indifference thawed as he broke bone after bone, ruining his chances of the championship he had craved all these years.  
  
Jorge barely hears the rest of Dani’s speech, something about thanking Honda and Repsol, before he’s wrenching himself to his feet, nausea bubbling up in his throat. He barely manages to reach the toilet, his knees hitting the floor harder than he anticipated as he throws up the little food he’s been able to force down that afternoon. Thoughts of Dani swirl through his head as he grips the toilet bowl, tears collecting in the corners of his eyes.  
  
_“Tell me why we can’t go back to what we were, Dani, I deserve that don’t I?”_  
  
_“Because I can’t look at you anymore without knowing that you used me for the last three years! You used me, Jorge!”_  
  
_“I did what I had to do!”_  
  
_“I don’t know who you are anymore,”_

Jorge hovers around the Repsol motorhome after the press conference is over. He spots Marc and Alex talking excitedly a few feet away and slips further into the shadows. His dark eyes rove over the paddock - over the riders going about their business as though nothing has happened, the media exiting the press conference chattering about exclusives and some random fans with a pen handy to scrawl across their caps and flags. Jorge finally spots the man that hasn’t stopped occupying his thoughts. Dani walks towards his motorhome with a forced smile spreading across his face - he’s stopped a few times for autographs and photographs and reluctantly obliges - before he moves slowly towards the safety of the door. Marc stops him for a moment, his hands moving to curl around Dani for a moment, slapping his teammate on the back before releasing him and disappearing.  
  
Jorge wants nothing more than to call out to Dani. He wishes he had the same confidence that Marc possesses, that he could just wrap his arms around Dani and hold him close, support him - but he knows he lost that right. Leaning against the side of the motorhome, he closes his eyes, sighing heavily.  
  
Why is this so difficult? Why can’t he just go to Dani and explain what he’s feeling?  
  
_Because you’re scared_ , his brain supplies. _Because you’re worried that he’ll cut you out for good. Stop chickening out, Jorge. Just go and tell him everything._  
  
He waits for the shorter Spaniard to pull open the door and moves out of the shadows, calling out Dani’s name, his hand curling over Dani’s over the handle.  
  
“What the fuck do you want, Lorenzo? You come to gloat or something?”  
  
“I want to talk,” Jorge ignores the sharp words that slide off Dani’s tongue, they’re designed to sting and hurt. He pushes the door open and Dani reluctantly steps through the threshold, folding his arms.  
  
“And why would I listen to you? We’re not friends, not _anymore_ ,” His dark eyes are fixed on Jorge as he closes the door.  
  
“Dani-”  
  
“I really don’t want to hear your excuses anymore, Jorge,” Dani says, and he looks tired . He looks older than his 32 years, and Jorge jolts at the expression. “Why can’t you leave me alone? You know how hard that press conference was-”  
  
“I know, and I’m sorry-”  
  
“Sorry for what? Sorry for signing a contract with Honda and leaving me no option but to retire? Sorry for all the shit you pulled in 2012? What are you sorry for, Jorge?”  
  
“I never wanted things to turn out this way-”  
  
Dani lets out a low sarcastic laugh. “Sure, you didn’t. But you’re the one who has three championships to your name!”  
  
“It’s not like you had your name on them, Dani,” Jorge finally snaps back, anger flooding his chest. “What did you want me to do? Just step to one side and let you claim them?”  
  
Dani’s eyes are almost black with anger. “You crossed the line, Jorge, and you know you did. We were friends,”  
  
Jorge bites back a laugh. “Is that what they call it these days? Friends are people who sleep together and suck each other’s-”  
  
“Enough,” Dani snarls. “Why are you bringing that up? It’s in the past-”  
  
“Because I’m still in love with you!” Jorge can’t stop the words as they fall from his mouth. He can only watch as Dani freezes at the confession, eyes wide and face quickly paling.  
  
The shock and surprise is quickly smoothed over by Dani’s professional mask. “This is low, Lorenzo, even for you...just get out,” His voice cracks on the last word as he avoids eye contact, as though staring at Jorge will shatter him.  
  
“Dani-”  
  
“I mean it, Lorenzo,”  
  
“No,” Jorge says, shaking his head. “I’m not leaving until I’ve said what I came here to say,”  
  
“I don’t want to hear it-” Dani replies, moving to turn around to leave the motorhome but Jorge is quicker, catching his wrist in his hand. “Let go of me,”  
  
“I never wanted any of this to happen, I never wanted to lose you Dani, not to a trophy, I was an idiot and I tried to bury everything because it got in the way of my career but-”  
  
“Jorge-”  
  
“I can’t hide it anymore. I can’t pretend that it’s not there, I’ve pretended for years and I can’t do it, not to myself or to you. I hate myself for destroying what was between us-”  
  
“Jorge, stop talking,” Dani murmurs, shaking his head as he moves closer and cuts the taller man off with a chaste kiss. Jorge melts into the contact, feeling the words die on his tongue as Dani’s body presses against his own, his lips warm and slightly chapped as they were all those years ago. He feels a moan tear from his lips as Dani’s hand fists into the collar of his overalls, pulling him closer.  
  
“I’m sorry too,” Dani says quietly against Jorge’s lips. “I’m sorry I wasn’t happy for you-”  
  
Jorge feels a smile brush over his lips as his hand moves slowly down Dani’s shoulder, moving to slowly pull the zip of his overalls down. “We’ve got some catching up to do,”


End file.
